Propus Wilkerson Road

Short story of a horrible dream that could easy come true. I had to write it down.

Propus Wilkerson Road

I awoke twisted in the sheets. The worst sick, nauseous feeling came over me. I curled up into a ball and thought about my coming day. If I sleep some more it will pass. The funeral I needed to attend of a friend and the preparations for that kept my mind busy for a minute or two as I got tangled even worse.

Jeff, I thought. I haven’t heard from them up there for a few days. He was visiting our brother in Bullock, near Virginia.

Jeff lives with me and my husband and girls. He is disabled and was mentally abused. Far worse than the rest of us. I wondered if he had enough medication for a long visit.

My stomach in knots I twisted again. My head pounded. Close we are. Jeff and I.

They are all dead.

I knew it and began to walk through the house in my head.

I drive into the gravel driveway and the house is laid out like I would imagine a crime scene to look like.

Barren, unkempt. Weeds growing wild, grass to be mowed. Like an old washed-up movie stars home. Glamorous in its day.

I step on each steeping stone, the ones we made one summer all together in the kitchen. Laughing and sharing ideas. Stirring powdered stone.

Continuing through the Iron Gate doors to the court yard Marissa’s swimming pool was set-up and her slide from the attached playschool jungle gym was set into one end. Where my daughter played with her just two weekends ago at the July fourth cookout. Steve cooked ribs. They were good.

At second glance I see her . Face down. She must be playing with her goggles on. A moment passes and she doesn’t move. I pull her up by the back of her swim suit and I knew she was dead. Limp. Lifeless. A rag doll. I laid her across the side of the plastic pool. Face down. I don’t want to see her face. I knelt there. Wet.

In a fog I turned to walk inside the two large front doors and Julia’s body lie on the floor obstructing my path. Her hair pulled back in that long dark Julia pony tail. Head turned to the side pressed to the cold stone tile. Her eyes open stared out in the distance. Pretty eyes. The kind that looked as if she was always wearing eyeliner. Spanish eyes. She was only fourteen.

I stepped over her and didn’t see a lot of blood. Some at the back of her head. But she was dead. I just knew.

I started to choke up. My lips began to quiver and my eyes stung and welled up with tears. They did not fall however. A lump in my throat so big I could hardly breathe appeared instead.

He is here. Watching me. Afraid to admit to what’s happened. Quiet and waiting for me to find him.

My mind starts to shut down and I am no longer walking. I am floating. Passed the large adobe fire place down the long hallway beneath the arched doorways Steve had a time building himself. It was Spanish-Mexican and grand I thought. So proud of him. Building his own house. What a feat to take on and a feat it was. Almost killed him. The stress of it all. Stress.

I turned left into their bedroom. He and Susana‘s. I know they were there but I don’t remember looking.

Sick. I feel sick. They are in their four-post bed covered to the neck Steve was facing out, far right, away from me. Susana’s hair I could see.

But I could not see.

I did not see.

It was all in my mind’s eye.

Maybe there was blood. From his mouth. I liked his mouth . It kind of reminded me of Vincent D’onofrio’s on Law and Order- Criminal Intent. A baby’s mouth. Steve was a cute baby. I remember his picture.

Steve. Asleep I must believe. I won’t pull back the covers or even attempt to disturb them. They are dead. Fine where they lay.

I feel his eyes upon me but he is not in this room. Not behind me as I peek into the bathroom. The tiled shower. Susana worked on that until it was just right. Aligning those small tiles, cutting and placing them by colors all designed in her head. What work went into that house. Love and care and hate.

I feel the lump in my throat convulse. I sucked in a breath of stale putrid air and lost my lunch there on the bathroom tile. I’m sorry, what a mess. Sorrowed sounds came from my mouth. I didn’t hear it. I wiped my mouth on my sleeve.

The phone. It’s in the kitchen.

Down the hall Julia hasn’t moved. Baby doll with her colored shoelaces.

He is looming. To my left I would imagine in the family room. Sitting legs crossed in the wing chair. Maybe his spiral bound notebooks on his lap. Pencil in hand. If I looked at him he might show me that- empty I don’t have a clue what you might be referring to face. The one that has frustrated me so many times in the past. Stay calm. You can deal with his attitudes. You have them too.

The phone on the window sill outlined in dark wood. Like a shelf. Perfect for plants or books. But the phone and I pushed the numbers. Bleep beep, beeeeep. Something, something can you help me I acknowledged.

“I need an ambulance. They are all dead. Four. A straight jacket and a few large men my brother is a big guy I guess, I dunno. Police too. Propus Wilkerson Road.” more sound but I hung-up.

I looked up from my squat beneath the high window. Jeff. Standing there in a clean crisp white shirt tucked into his “trousers” my grandma would always say. What would she say? What now? She cared for him the longest time and when she died, Our MaMa, it was a great loss.

We stared at one another no emotion. No expression. I sat cross-legged on the floor but I can’t sit that way. I’m old enough to hurt sitting like that. I stretched my legs out straight.

“Hey.” I said.

“Hey.” turning his head, aloof, “I wondered when you’d get here. I called but there was no answer.”

“You did?”

“Yeah. Come in here and sit this chair is real comfortable.” He pointed into the family room sparse with furniture. He is always so kind and accommodating. Too much so. Eager to please.

They never really got around to that room. It had an old futon. Mama’s old end tables and that chair.

The small T.V. sat on a table Mom used to have but Susana tiled over the top when she first learned how to do mosaic’s. Creative, I liked it.

“Right here, I’ll move my stuff. Yeah that chair sits good.”

I stood in the doorway. Dumb.

“What happened Jeff?”

“Aren’t you going to sit down?” he looked at me blank.

“What happened?”

“Whaddaya mean?”

 

PB 7-14-08

Author's Note

I left a lot of fragments. I felt my thoughts were fragmented and it might help to express the feeling as it goes.

Reviews

[LadyLove]

The ending is scary in it's abrupt way...he just doesn't know what he did. For her it's a brave thing to still stand there and face him after what she'd seen. He could kill her next..eek!

[Forist.johnston]

I liked it. A little confusing at times, but altogether a well thought out piece.

Descriptive as well, I felt like I was with her discovering the bodies. Feeling the Panic.

Keep writing! =]